Angels with dirty faces
by Daisy5
Summary: No matter how fast you run, your past will find you. AU Season 5
1. Default Chapter

Title: Angels with dirty faces. Author: Daisy Rating: R Category: Angst. Post season 4. AU season 5 Summary: No matter how fast you run, your past will find you. Disclaimer: The characters in the Angelverse were created by Joss Whedon & David Greenwalt. No infringement is intended, no profit is made. Distribution: You want it, you got it. But be a peach and let me know. Feedback: Is better than a chocolate covered Hugh Jackman with a side serving of Amy Acker.  
  
***  
  
The air was stale and still, the occasional drift of dust rose up by the side of the road from a breeze that was over with before it even began. A landscape of nothing blinked by unnoticed while the ailing radio crackled out traffic news that was of no use to the three women that occupied the stiflingly hot Desoto, too busy in their own thoughts to take in the wide rolling vistas they sped past.  
  
Arid land, bleak in its beauty, too bright for eyes that had grown accustomed to the night, sunlight bounced mockingly off the road making them squint until the dull thud of a shared headache bled into the edges of their brains. Surely it shouldn't be so bright, surely the sun should be mourning the loss of what little innocence they'd had left? Surely there should be a storm, a tornado of pain and loss ravaging the land, not this quiet peaceful nothing.  
  
The sun shined and the car sped on, bumping over potholes that made the suspension grunt with irritation. The traffic update ended to be replaced with an over enthusiastic DJ declaring the reward for being the tenth caller.  
  
Money in the bank, car of your dreams, fantasy vacation a million miles away.  
  
Forget all your troubles with a fruity drink.  
  
"I wish you wouldn't smoke in the car," Fred muttered under her breath, her eyes fixed to the road ahead, knuckles bone white on the steering wheel.  
  
"Yeah well I wish for I lotta things, so far I've got none of them," Faith drawled as she carelessly flicked her ash out of the window.  
  
"Those things are gonna kill you," shaking her head with disapproval Fred fiddled with the air conditioning only to be rewarded with a stream of warm air for her effort. With a defeated sigh she wiped away the sheen of sweat from forehead with the back of her hand.  
  
"Really? There I was thinking they'd help me live a long and happy life," the Slayer rolled her eyes, taking a long satisfying drag of nicotine into her lungs.  
  
"It's disgusting and it's stinking up the car."  
  
"The car already stinks," Faith dismissed the subject with boredom even as she tossed the half smoked cigarette out of the window. Left with nothing to occupy her restless hands Faith took a turn at impotently pressing the buttons on the dashboard in search of the air conditioning. "The a/c doesn't work," she declared after a while without result.  
  
"You don't say."  
  
"How come we got stuck with this pile of junk? With all that money Angel's- "  
  
"Faith!" the Texan hissed to silence her. Fred darted her eyes at the rear view mirror.  
  
"She ain't listenin'," Faith looked over her shoulder, not surprised that the third in their party of brunettes still sat curled up in her seat, staring unseeingly at the blurring landscape.  
  
"Cordelia's fine, she just needs a few days away," Fred said confidently, her fingers flexing on the steering wheel as though it were the only thing keeping her grounded.  
  
"Oh yeah, a few days away should make everything just shiny and new," Faith rolled her eyes.  
  
"She'll be fine," Fred repeated like a mantra as she looked at the once confident and vivacious woman, now barely a shadow of the person she once was.  
  
***  
  
The cold water felt good against her face, that much Cordelia was sure of. It was real on her skin, when she touched it she knew it would be wet, that it would trickle through her fingers, that gravity would draw it south.  
  
It was a certainty, something she could rely on.  
  
The face that stared back at her from the cracked and dirty bathroom mirror no longer was.  
  
Hazel eyes, wide mouth, arched eyebrows and regal nose.  
  
Was this really her?  
  
How could she know anymore, what if the person that stared back wasn't who she thought it was?  
  
Nobody would be able to tell.  
  
She rubbed a damp paper towel over the back of her neck, the coarse material scratched against the sweat and grit borne of too many hours heading god knows where.  
  
Somewhere. Anywhere as long as it was somewhere.  
  
Cordelia absently fingered the ends of her hair, it was longer than she remembered and she wanted it gone, to cut away the thick mane of brown and grow it anew, fresh start, do-over. Maybe she could shed her skin too, leave behind a trail of paper thin deceits on the dirty floor and walk out of the graffiti covered rest room the woman she once was. Or was she? Had she ever been that woman, was that a lie too, were these her own thoughts and actions, when she traced her finger over the spider web crack in the mirror was it *her*, Cordelia, Cordy, that didn't grimace as it sliced cleanly into her finger? Was it her blood that dripped like slow running honey onto the yellowing basin? Drip, drip, it was a hypnotic sight but *why* couldn't she feel it? Why couldn't she feel the sharp stinging pain that told her she was still alive, still breathing, away from the nothing and back where she belonged?  
  
Death would be easy. Cut her wrists or swallow too many pills, at least then she'd be free of the nothing, make it slide down the drain in a stream of red, watch as it left its stain on the porcelain as it had on everything else.  
  
So tempting to end it now in the small bathroom, under a bare light bulb, between the towel dispenser and the leaking pipes-  
  
"Cordy, you all right in there?" Faith's voice called through the door as if the other woman knew exactly what was going through her mind.  
  
"I'll be out in a minute," Cordelia answered back evenly, "I just need a minute," she told her reflection quietly as though she were asking herself for space to be alone. Her voice felt scratchy and raw from too many months without use, it still sounded the same though, just as her face was the same, her hands, her breasts, her legs. Everything familiar yet so very wrong, left with used skin and borrowed bones, weak muscles and tainted flesh.  
  
Could a stranger tell just by looking what her hands had done? Might they realize the pain her fingers had danced through? Would they understand how she still felt the power crackling seductively beneath her skin, how at night dreams full of dark whispered promises made her ache with atrocities that another committed.  
  
Would they see the tainted memories of a sweet baby boy she'd sung to sleep behind her guilty eyes?  
  
"C'mon C, we're burning daylight!" Faith pounded on the door.  
  
***  
  
"I bought you these," Fred handed Cordelia a pair of dark sunglasses as she settled once again into the back seat.  
  
"Thanks," she forced the corners of her mouth to tug up into what she hoped was something that resembled a smile.  
  
Cordelia felt the skin around her eyes crack from disuse.  
  
"How are you feeling?"  
  
"Good," she lied because it was easier than the truth.  
  
A spark of anger flared inside her momentarily at the hopeful smile Fred was giving her. It passed as soon as it had been ignited though, leaving nothing but the hollow space twisting in her gut. Cordelia wrapped her arms around her legs and rested her chin on her knees, eyes fixed to the few scattered specks of black paint that had apparently refused to be parted from the window glass.  
  
"Let's get this oh so merry show on the road," Faith announced as she slid into the drivers seat, throwing the sodas she'd bought next to Cordelia. The dark haired Slayer gunned the ignition and pulled away from the gas station, a trail of dust spraying behind them in their wake.  
  
***  
  
Angel read the note in the dappled sunlight that blanketed his office, the urge to shuffle into the shadows itched at his skin as he memorized Fred's scribbled words.  
  
"Does it say where they've gone, if they'll be returning?" Wesley asked from the opposite side of the room, no longer shoulder to shoulder as they once had been  
  
Angel shook his head.  
  
"Can hardly blame her-"  
  
"Spike." There was enough Angelus in that one word warning to make the usually verbose blonde vampire swallow his contribution to the conversation. Patting his pockets until he'd found the crumpled pack, Spike stretched out lazily on the black leather sofa and lit a cigarette, cocking an eyebrow at the annoyed look Gunn sent his way.  
  
"We going after them?" asked Gunn when the thick silence began to scratch at his nerves.  
  
Angel felt three pairs of eyes staring expectantly at him, waiting for instruction, as if he knew what the hell it was he was doing.  
  
"I have a meeting," Angel grunted and stalked out of the office. 


	2. Chapter 2

Angel traced his fingers over the words he'd memorized the moment he'd read Fred's note, silently repeating them until they were nothing but a group of sounds that ceased to make sense.  
  
She's dying here....  
  
It was the truth, even if Angel refused to speak it aloud, he didn't need Fred's hurried note to tell him. He'd known it since the moment Cordelia had woken and turned her eyes away from her friends, no anger, no resentment, just silence.  
  
She's dying here....  
  
Anger would have been easier, if she'd raged and screamed, he could have handled that, understood it, but not the silence. It had imbedded itself into the soul he'd sold to the devil for thirty pieces of silver.  
  
She's dying here....  
  
He squeezed his eyes shut as though that would be enough to erase those three words from his memory, wipe it clean like the deal he'd done with Lilah, forget the pain in her eyes, the silence that had been more painful than a thousand splinters penetrating his dead heart.  
  
When he opened his eyes the words still remained.  
  
"Mr Angel?" a nervous red head who reminded him of Willow in that first year in Sunnydale tried to garner his attention.  
  
His jaw twitched with tension.  
  
"Angel, it's just Angel," he repeated for what felt the millionth time.  
  
"Oh, yes, sorry," she flushed, anxiously fussing with the legal pad in front of her.  
  
"Was there anything else?" Angel didn't try disguise the boredom in his voice as he glanced at his watch.  
  
Two hours spent sitting at the head of a too big table, in a too bright board room, with ten humans even Angelus wouldn't have even bothered to bite.  
  
"Well," the red started timidly because the vampire made her nervous, "there is the small matter of Miss Chase-"  
  
"They've nicked the bloody DeSoto!!" Spike yelled indignantly as he stormed into the boardroom, glass doors rattling dangerously with his entry.  
  
Angel put his head in his hands and closed his eyes.  
  
This was worse than hell.  
  
***  
  
The food was far too greasy but it was served in more than generous portions, and for that Faith was grateful. The last few days had bled together into one long uncomfortable pain in her lower back and all she wanted to do was eat until she couldn't stand the sight of anymore food, enjoy a couple beers, pass out on an actual bed and not think about the mess she'd quite willingly left behind her.  
  
Or, more precisely, the man she'd quite willingly left behind her.  
  
"I think I saw a motel a little ways back," Faith said between healthy bites of her burger.  
  
Fred nodded, idly stirring a figure eight into her coffee while her own meal went uncharacteristically untouched.  
  
"Looked clean enough," the Slayer continued, "cheap but clean, possibly one of those fabled motels where the water doesn't run brown and the cockroaches pick up after themselves."  
  
Fred nodded again.  
  
Cordelia pushed her fries around the plate while she stared out at the setting sun.  
  
"You could grunt or something, let a girl know she's not completely talking to herself."  
  
Nod.  
  
Stare.  
  
"Oh for crapsake," Faith sighed with irritation. The loud crack of her hands clapping together made the two silent women startle in their seats.  
  
"What?" Fred snapped waspishly, embarrassed at the curious looks the other diners where sending their way.  
  
"If I knew you two were gonna be this much fun I would've stayed in Cleveland," the Slayer wiped her greasy fingers on a paper napkin and threw it on her plate, deftly ignoring the ache that throbbed in her chest, "at some point one of you are gonna have to tell me what the hell is going on here."  
  
"I told you, we're just taking a break from LA," the Texan pushed her untouched coffee away, darting a glance at the silent woman beside her.  
  
"Uh huh, but for some reason you calling me up in the middle of the night telling me to get my butt to LA as soon as possible, borrowing, and when I say borrowing I mean stealing, the bleached Wonders wheels, without so much as a see ya later to Angel and the boys doesn't exactly add up to fun vacation time to me. But then again this might just me being overly suspsicous, prison can do that to a girl, but I'm thinking I'm being left out of the loop big time here." Faith crossed her arms over her chest and waited for the answers she damn well deserved.  
  
"I need to use the rest room," Cordelia said as she rose from her seat and walked to the back of the busy restaurant.  
  
"Well?" the slayer cocked an eyebrow at Fred whose gaze was fixed in the direction that the third of their party had just disappeared to.  
  
"I didn't steal the car, I left Spike a note," Fred muttered distractedly.  
  
"Whatever," Faith rolled her eyes, this girl pissed her off worse than Willow did, "I want some answers Fred, and I want them now. I wanna know why Cordelia looks like the walking dead, why she's barely said two words since we hightailed it outta dodge, why you flinch every time I mention Angel, and pretty much why the hell I'm needed here on this little Thelma and Louise jaunt across our great nation!" Faith's voice rose to a threatening level, causing a few nervous glances to be sent her way.  
  
Fred continued to stare at the direction Cordelia had disappeared to.  
  
"Hey," Faith snapped her fingers in front of the Texan's face.  
  
"What?" Fred blinked, annoyed.  
  
"Look, if there's something going on here I need to know-"  
  
"Then you'll be told," was Fred's terse reply as she stood up, "I'm just gonna-" she jerked her head towards the restroom then left Faith alone at the table.  
  
"Oh sure, don't worry about me," she called after the Texans retreating back, "it's not like I have anywhere better to be."  
  
The Slayer eyed the pile of fries that sat ignored on Fred plate and grabbed a handful.  
  
"Just don't be expecting me to drive off some cliff without knowing why," Faith muttered and attempted to fill the void inside her with food.  
  
***  
  
Fred pressed the palm of her hand against the stall door, the glossy off- white paint shined obscenely under the harsh glare of the overhead light and made the young Physicist want to smash the bulb beneath her boot.  
  
It was too bright, too raw, nothing could hide under it's florescent glow, not the lies that had crept beneath her skin, not the betrayal that painted every cell of her body.  
  
Not the sound of vomit hitting the toilet bowl.  
  
Fred's heart hurt for Cordelia, a sharp slice of pain that ached inside her chest, wrapped in guilt and culpability because the Texan knew she'd played her part in creating the ghost of the woman they'd once known.  
  
Leaning her forehead against the door she wanted to claw apart with her hands until her skin was torn and bleeding, Fred closed her eyes and let the last seven days wash over her for a few debilitating seconds until the flush of the toilet signalled Cordelia had finished throwing up the small amount of food she'd eaten that day.  
  
Fred stepped back from the door, straightened her shoulders and plastered on a smile that was beginning to hurt her face.  
  
If she pretended everything was fine, then maybe it would be.  
  
The door opened and the ache twisted and splintered.  
  
"Hey," Cordelia croaked and wiped the back of her trembling hand across her mouth.  
  
"You OK?" Fred asked impotently.  
  
Cordelia nodded and moved over to the small row of basins, gripping the white porcelain until her hands cramped because at least then she was feeling something.  
  
"You'll feel better after a good night sleep," the Physicist said with such determination that it made Cordelia want to laugh.  
  
"Yeah, sleep," she muttered before rinsing the taste of bile out of her mouth.  
  
The florescent light flickered and hummed above them.  
  
***  
  
"Spike-"  
  
"I can't believe she took the DeSoto! All those bleeding Mercs and Jags you've got and she steals my baby?!"  
  
"Listen-"  
  
"You ever been in a car when Fred's driving?" The blonde vampire didn't wait for Angel's answer, "The girl isn't even familiar with the term clutch control!"  
  
"Spike-"  
  
"I swear, if there's even one scratch on the paint I will tie the skinny little bint down and-"  
  
"SPIKE!"  
  
Spike stopped his furious pacing and turned to face Angel, "What?"  
  
"Shut. Up." The older vampire bit out through clenched teeth.  
  
"What's crawled up your arse today?" Spike jerked his chin and cocked an eyebrow as he dropped down in a now vacant chair on the opposite end of the boardroom, legs crossed and casually propped up on the oak table.  
  
"Feet," Angel grunted.  
  
Spike happily ignored his order.  
  
Angel sighed wearily and let his head fall to the back of his chair.  
  
"Why are you still here?" he asked the ceiling as though he were looking to the heavens for answers. Angel felt too old and too broken to be dealing with Spike right now.  
  
"I figured we'd rally the troops-"  
  
"No, why are you still here? In my city, my life? Why?" Angel fixed Spike with a glare as he asked the same question he'd asked every day since they'd tackled the blonde's corporeal problem.  
  
"What? Can't a fella just want to hang out with an old mate?"  
  
"We're not friends, Spike."  
  
"No, really?" Spike snorted and rolled his eyes then stood and began to prowl around the boardroom once again, habit keeping him away from the early evening rays of light that bled through the windows.  
  
Angel watched silently as the other vampire moved restlessly around the room, his nerves dancing on a razors edge with every step the blonde took. Angel wanted him gone, out of his city, out of his life, he didn't care where he went, he just wanted Spike away from him.  
  
Spike's presence brought with it too many regrets and too much guilt, and he had enough to deal with already.  
  
"So?" Spike turned to face him, "we gonna be all white knightly and go after the damsels in distress?"  
  
She's dying here....  
  
Angel fingered the scribbled note in his pocket.  
  
She's dying here...and now I know the truth.  
  
"No," the brunette declared even as his heart broke a little bit more, "no, we're not." 


	3. Chapter 3

Faith had stayed in too many motel rooms during her short life, each one as faceless and uninviting as the next, filled with the ghosts of a thousand other lost souls looking for somewhere to hide.  
  
A part of her liked them. Liked the faceless ghosts, ratty bed sheets and the low hum of the vacancy sign. There were no expectations to live up to, no eyes demanding more than she could give, just a well worn carpet and checkout at eight.  
  
Simple.  
  
And the perfect place for three brunettes running from the past.  
  
"We're a cliché, you know that, right?" Faith broke the ever present silence that blanketed them.  
  
Fred nodded, picking idly at the label of her half finished beer as she leant her hip against the open door way.  
  
Faith had given up asking questions about what was going on when Fred and Cordelia had returned from the rest room, neither looked like they were interested in playing twenty questions and contrary to popular belief, Faith knew when to keep her mouth shut.  
  
For a while at least.  
  
"So, Wini, what's your story?" Faith asked as though she didn't really care if she was given an answer or not.  
  
"I don't have a story," the Physicist replied, her gaze fixed resolutely to the dusty DeSoto in the mostly empty parking lot, "and my name's Fred."  
  
"Whatever, *Fred*," Faith rolled her eyes, "I just want a few answers. Like why the cheerleader's not her usual high bitch queen self-"  
  
"You know nothing about Cordelia," Fred silenced the Slayer with an angry hiss.  
  
"Jeeze, sorry," Faith raised her hands in supplication.  
  
"Don't talk about her like that, she isn't...just...just don't," the Texan ran out of steam in the argument.  
  
Silence crept back in like a thief and settled uncomfortably between the Physicist and the Slayer.  
  
Nightfall had done little to cool the stifling Arizona heat, Fred could feel long trickles of sweat running down her spine, her thin shirt stuck uncomfortably to her back and her skin felt suffocated with dust and secrets.  
  
The plan had been Texas.  
  
A familiar place to dissect the truth from the lies, home cooked food, the warm comfort of her parent's affection. But as they'd fled LA in a car that had seen better days, the thought of returning to the home she hadn't seen in years, to the people that knew her better than she knew herself, terrified Fred.  
  
So the plan had changed to anywhere but LA or Texas.  
  
Anywhere that didn't know of the falsities they'd been fed, lives that had been shattered, decisions made without consent.  
  
Fred didn't know what she was doing, if she'd made the correct decision to spirit Cordelia away from LA. She was beginning to have serious misgivings about inviting Faith along for the ride too.  
  
The Slayer was beginning to ask too many questions that Fred didn't want or know how to answer. Fred knew she should tell Faith what was going on but how could she when she wasn't even sure herself?  
  
She and Faith weren't friends, probably never would be, but the Physicist hadn't known who else to turn to. Not Wes or Gunn because they didn't know the truth.  
  
And certainly not Angel.  
  
Glancing over her shoulder, Fred checked on the still form curled up on the single bed in their shared room.  
  
"She's been sleeping a lot," Faith carefully stated.  
  
"She's been through a lot," Fred returned her gaze to the weathered DeSoto.  
  
***  
  
"I don't get it," Gunn frowned, ignoring Spike's snort of derision, "Fred and Cordy hightailing it outta dodge just doesn't make sense."  
  
"I'm sure there was a valid reason," Wesley swirled the amber liquid around in his glass.  
  
"Better bloody be a good one," the blonde vampire muttered as he lit the cigarette that dangled haphazardly from his mouth, casually ignoring the no smoking signs were littered around them, "that car's a classic-"  
  
"But I must admit it's not like Fred to do something so rash without letting one of us know," the Englishman wondered out loud effectively cutting off yet another of Spike's rants about his beloved Desoto.  
  
Gunn nodded in agreement, loosening his tie and unbuttoning the collar of his shirt as he did so.  
  
He was finding it difficult to wind down after another day in court and by the amount of whiskey Wesley was consuming, Gunn realized he wasn't the only one.  
  
The bar was shiny and clean, very different from the atmospheric Irish pubs that they'd frequented in the past. Table after table was filled with weary looking executives, each of them passing the time until they had no other choice but return to their shiny wives and clean houses. The sounds of corporate life buzzed around the three that sat in a not particularly companionable silence. Meetings with accountants were discussed half heartedly, last nights game was intricately dissected, Moby lamented his troubles with God and cell phones beeped for attention.  
  
"And Angel doesn't think we should go after them?" Gunn turned his attention to the blonde vampire that was fidgeting like a rittalin child.  
  
Spike shrugged with disinterest and wondered why he was wasting his evening with these two idiots for the eighteenth time since he'd crashed their little mope fest.  
  
It was typical of Spike's luck that the one person he found vaguely interesting in the entire town would end up stealing his car and leaving for destinations unknown without so much of a see ya, wouldn't wanna be ya.  
  
Not that he was worried about Fred, because he wasn't.  
  
Barely knew the girl.  
  
Couldn't care less.  
  
Just because he had a soul now didn't mean he gave a crap about Angel and his band of merry men.  
  
Spike told his soul to shut the hell up.  
  
"I'm telling ya, it doesn't make sense," Gunn repeated his earlier declaration, shooting Spike a sharp glare before the bleach blonde could question his intelligence again.  
  
"I was speaking with Knox earlier, apparently Fred had been acting odd for most of the week," Wesley shared the morsel of information he'd been able to garner, "well, odder than usual anyway," he amended.  
  
"Odd how?" Gunn frowned.  
  
"He didn't say," the ex watcher shrugged.  
  
Spike flicked his gaze between the two friends while they sat in a moment of quiet contemplation, each undoubtedly thinking about what would cause Fred's strange behaviour.  
  
The vampire felt the urge to knock their heads together. He'd had more interesting conversations with Andrew.  
  
Gunn leant forward in his chair, an unasked question written clearly across his face.  
  
"What?" Wesley asked.  
  
"How much time have you spent with Cordy since she woke up?"  
  
"Well...." he paused, thinking, "we've been rather busy...."  
  
"Yeah, same here," Gunn nodded guiltily.  
  
Wesley frowned and studied his drink as though it were the answer to all their problems.  
  
"Jesus, you two are worse than the poof," Spike rolled his eyes.  
  
"Are you gonna answer that?" Gunn snapped at him roughly.  
  
"Answer what?" Spike narrowed his eyes suspiciously, quickly replaying the conversation in his mind to see if he'd missed a random accusation that may have been thrown his way.  
  
"Your pocket's ringing," Wesley gestured vaguely with his drink before swallowing the content in one impressive gulp.  
  
Spike frowned and reached into the deep pocket of his leather duster. He sifted through the contents, grimacing when he came into contact with a sticky piece of candy that may very well have been in there for decades, only understanding where the annoying beeping he'd been hearing for the last ten minutes had been coming from when his fingers wrapped around a cell phone.  
  
He'd forgotten he even owned one.  
  
With a parting glare at the two men, who each looked as amused as the other, Spike stood and stalked towards the entrance of the bar before they could mock him about enhanced vampire hearing.  
  
Once outside, the blonde punched the call button.  
  
"What?" Spike barked roughly, fully expecting to hear the not so dulcet tones of his grandsire checking that he wasn't causing mayhem.  
  
"Nice phone manner you've got there," an achingly sweet and familiar voice replied, clearly amused.  
  
A smile that few rarely saw lit up the vampire's face.  
  
"Buffy," as he said her name the vampire felt the tension drain from his shoulders.  
  
"Hey."  
  
"You OK?"  
  
"Yeah, you?"  
  
"Still enjoyin' the corporeal unlife," Spike scratched his thumb over the scar that ran through his eyebrow, wondering if this was a social or business call, desperately hoping it was social even though those calls were few and far between, "how's Dawn?"  
  
"Being a pain in my ass, as usual."  
  
Spike heard a distant yelp of indignation that could only ever come from the youngest Summers and his heart twisted fondly.  
  
"Sounds like niblet," he said softly.  
  
"Yeah."  
  
An awkward pause filled the conversation, both blondes still unsure how to talk to the other.  
  
"There was a reason I called," Buffy said quickly before the conversation died completely.  
  
"Right," Spike tried to hide the disappointment in his voice.  
  
"The police have been sniffing around looking for Faith again, could you let her know she should be on her guard and not do anything, you know, Faithish?"  
  
"'Course," he nodded then realized there was a flaw in that plan, "one problem though, pet."  
  
"What's that?"  
  
"Faith ain't here."  
  
"Er, yeah she is, she left a few days ago, said something about a friend needing a favour? Did she not turn up?"  
  
Something clicked in the vampire's brain.  
  
"No, but I have a feeling I know where she is," Spike sighed.  
  
"Trouble?"  
  
"I expect so."  
  
"Should I be on my way to LA?"  
  
Spike's heart screamed yes.  
  
"Naw, we can handle it," he forced himself to say.  
  
"OK," Buffy said, sounding unconvinced.  
  
Another pause, a heartbeat of silence.  
  
"Buffy?"  
  
"Yeah?"  
  
"Why are you telling me this and not Angel?" Spike asked before he could stop himself.  
  
The blonde slayer's silence was worse than her venom.  
  
"Listen, forget I-"  
  
"Because I wanted to talk to you," her quiet admission broke off his hasty back tracking.  
  
Hope bloomed in his chest and an unguarded smile spread across his lips.  
  
"So, has Angel given you an office yet?" Buffy quickly changed the subject, just as Spike knew she would.  
  
Baby steps, he reminded himself.  
  
"He barely tolerates me in the building, luv, doubt I'll be getting my own view any time ever," Spike muttered and sat down on the curb.  
  
"Want me to tell him to play nice?"  
  
"Don't you soddin' dare!"  
  
Buffy snorted with laughter and Spike wished he could her right now, curled up in her sweats on the sofa, finally having the half normal life she'd always yearned for.  
  
"S'good to hear you laugh," the words were out of his mouth again before he could stop them.  
  
Spike glared at the stars as though it were their fault.  
  
"S'good to be laughing again," Buffy agreed.  
  
Change of topic.  
  
Just to be safe.  
  
"So, how's ole' one eye doin'? Bet he's missin' me somethin' desperate."  
  
"Uh huh, about as much as he misses syphilis."  
  
"Oi now missy, I'll have you know me and Harris've got a bond."  
  
"Sure you do Spike, sure you do...."  
  
***  
  
When the bathroom door clicked shut, Cordelia stopped pretending to be asleep.  
  
Opening her eyes and rolling on her back, the once Seer for the PTB stared blankly at the water stains that covered the ceiling like a mildew Sistine Chapel. When she heard the shower begin, indicating that Fred would be occupied for a while, thus unable to watch her with the mix of pity and suspicion that now shadowed the Texan's gaze, Cordelia swung her legs over the edge of the bed and sat up, wincing at the dull ache of muscles that had gone unused for too many months.  
  
Her stomach clenched angrily at the movement.  
  
Swallowing down the bile that rose in her throat, the brunette stood and made her way across the room, grasping the door frame for a moment when the floor threatened to slip out from under her feet.  
  
Faith tried not to show her surprise when Cordelia sat down in the plastic lawn chair next to hers.  
  
"Feel better?" the Slayer asked casually.  
  
"Do I look better?" Cordelia raised an eyebrow at her.  
  
"You look like shit," Faith said honestly.  
  
"Coma," the ex cheerleader shrugged.  
  
"Been there, done that," Faith sighed and swallowed the last few dregs of her beer.  
  
"Got the frikken T-shirt," Cordelia muttered and tilted her head to look at the stars.  
  
For all the hours they spent in the night, they'd rarely seen the stars through the smog and lights of Los Angeles.  
  
Tonight they glittered like a thousand pairs of eyes watching over her.  
  
It should have felt comforting.  
  
It didn't.  
  
"Why are you here?" Cordelia asked Faith bluntly.  
  
"Been wondering that myself," the Slayer plucked a beer from her dwindling supply and offered it to the woman beside her, surprised when Cordelia accepted it.  
  
They drank in silence beneath a sky that had witnessed their crimes.  
  
***  
  
Angel tried to ignore the petulant ring of his cell phone as it echoed through his apartment.  
  
He closed his eyes and tightened his grip on the bottle of Scotch that sat comfortingly in his left hand.  
  
It rang and rang, a shrill demand that threatened to irritate the vampire enough to pull him out of his misery just to shut it up.  
  
Silence.  
  
Angel sighed with relief as the quiet returned to his gloomy, lifeless apartment.  
  
There was no warmth in this place, no memories of soft laughter, of happy bickering, the soundtrack of a family he'd let slip through his dirty hands.  
  
He'd left the warmth behind him when he'd made a pact with the devil.  
  
Not even the ghosts of the living comforted him here.  
  
He'd thought that this is what he'd wanted, what they'd all [i]needed[/i]. A fresh start, a future for Connor, some measure of peace for Cordelia.  
  
He'd been a fool.  
  
"A fucking fool," Angel muttered and attempted to drink some warmth into this dead body.  
  
Everything was gone, the son he would have died for, the woman he'd never had the chance to love.  
  
Gone, and he'd let them walk away.  
  
Angel dropped the now empty Scotch bottle to the floor beside his bed and rubbed his hand roughly over his face. He felt old, too fucking old for this, more than a century of misery aching in his bones, one after another they left him, left trapped in the shadows while the world felt the real sun on it's face.  
  
His sun was artificial and hollow, it bled into his tower of metal and lies, lit up the shadows that shouldn't be seen and he hated it.  
  
Hated it so much that he could taste the bitterness in his mouth, or maybe that was just the alcohol.  
  
Angel didn't know anymore.  
  
Didn't care either.  
  
His right hand bunched into a fist, the crunch of paper reminded him of what he was holding. Moving faster than his alcohol addled brain should have allowed him, Angel frantically sat up and switched on his bedside lamp. His big hands fumbled to flatten the creases he'd inflicted on the sole reminder of a life only he remembered.  
  
No, he corrected himself, not the only one that knows anymore].  
  
That thought brought him no solace.  
  
The happy faces that stared back at him from the photograph brought him even less.  
  
His sleeping child in the arms of the woman he loved.  
  
"S'beautiful," Angel murmured as he traced Cordelia's smile.  
  
A familiar voice broke through the silence of his self imposed prison, pulling the vampire from his memories. It took him a moment to realize it was his answer phone and Wesley wasn't actually in his apartment, which meant he missed the beginning of the message.  
  
"think Faith is with them, I had Knox run a trace on all of Fred's calls over the last few of weeks and there was one to Cleveland a few days before they left town."  
  
The Englishman paused and Angel knew what he was going to say next before he said it.  
  
"Angel, we think they may be in some kind of trouble. And if they're not, they probably will be soon. Gunn's getting in touch with his contacts, it should be easy enough to discover where they are, the DeSoto's hardly- ('s a classic!)-Spike, will you shut up!"  
  
"Just get on with it already, Wes," Angel muttered even though the ex watcher couldn't hear him.  
  
"We're going after them, just as soon as we have a location. There's something going on here Angel, Fred wouldn't just up and leave with Cordelia for no reason, especially not with Faith."  
  
Another pause.  
  
"I think you should come too. Call me when you get this message. Oh, it's Wesley by the way."  
  
A click and silence reigned once again.  
  
With hands that had lost more than he could hold onto, Angel slipped the wrinkled photograph back into its home inside the bedside table, beneath the books he no longer had the time to read.  
  
Shoulders hunched, the vampire stumbled over to his drinks cabinet and pulled out a full bottle of vodka, determined to drink himself unconscious while his house of card begain to crumble. 


	4. Chapter 4

A grimace laced with distaste twisted at Lorne's mouth as he surveyed the battleground surrounding him.  
  
Glossy pictures of the past were scattered across the floor without care, furniture broken, drapes were torn from their fixings and far too many empty booze bottles littered whatever surface was available. A debris of regret that suffocated what little life that had dared to inhabit that usually pristine apartment.  
  
Amidst it all, passed out on his stomach still clad in his Armani suit, tangled in whiskey drenched sheets, was a 210lb vampire that had once worn the title of Scourge of Europe.  
  
It was the most pathetic sight Lorne had ever seen, and he'd seen his fair share.  
  
"Whatta mess," Lorne muttered as he carefully picked his way across the room to the large windows that overlooked the city. With a quick flick of his wrist, he opened the blinds, letting the bright, necro-tempered, morning light into the dim apartment.  
  
"Wakey wakey, rise and shine!" Lorne sang. Loudly.  
  
Angel grunted, pulling a pillow over his head to block out the world.  
  
"Nuh huh, twinkle toes," Lorne snatched the pillow away.  
  
"Fuck off," Angel growled, turning his face away from the prescient demon.  
  
"My, aren't we a surly drunk first thing in the morning," Lorne clucked as he moved around the apartment, righting the furniture that hadn't taken the brunt of the vampire's intoxicated violence. He look sadly at the broken emerald green Tiffany lamp, glass shattered, wires twisted. Probably by a fist or boot. He picked it up, careful of the jagged edges as he surveyed the damage.  
  
"Is nothing sacred to you?" Shaking his head at the waste, Lorne turned back to face the unmoving vampire, cursing the fact that he'd drawn the short straw for this particular assignment. It was a literal short straw, too. He was pretty sure Spike had fixed it.  
  
"Get up, Angel," Lorne said, the usual affection he felt for his friends absent from his voice, his patience with the CEO of Wolfram and Hart had run out days ago. "They're leaving to find the girls in an hour, and if you know what's good for you, you'll be with them."  
  
Slowly, as though the weight of the entire world was pressing down on his broad shoulders, Angel turned over on to his back, rubbing the palms of his hands over his face.  
  
"I can't," he told the ceiling.  
  
"Tough," Lorne snapped, the anger that he'd been able to keep in check since Cordelia had woken began to burn like acid in the back of his throat. "This, for once, isn't about you. This is about your girl, Angel. Cordelia. Remember her? The woman that gave up everything so she could help you with your mission, the woman that lost everything for you, the woman that you say you love and yet-"  
  
"I get it," Angel cut Lorne's tirade off. He sat up like an old man, body weary and uncooperative as the jack hammer in his head made the room spin and his stomach lurch. He dropped his head into his hands and tried not to think too loudly.  
  
"God, I hope you do, Angel," Lorne said quietly, "because Cordelia may be the only thing you have left soon if you're not careful."  
  
Angel dragged his gaze up to meet Lorne's cold glare.  
  
Another card crumpled to the ground.  
  
"You know?" Angel asked.  
  
"Yeah, I know," Lorne crossed his arms over his chest, desperately trying to keep a hold of his righteous anger in the face of Angel's wounded eyes.  
  
"How-"  
  
"She sang, my ears bled, Fred snooped and suddenly everything seemed a hell of a lot clearer."  
  
Rubbing his eyes roughly, Angel struggled to clear the cloying mist from his brain.  
  
"I thought it was the right thing to do," he finally said once the silence had stretched glacially thin.  
  
"Well, sure, I can see how you'd think that. When the chips are down, I'm sure every champion takes the easy route of a mass mind wipe. There's nothing like a little cerebral rape to right the mistakes of the past."  
  
"Who else knows?" asked Angel, flinching internally at the bitter edge of ice that cut through his friend's voice.  
  
"Just me and Fred. And Cordy, of course, but I think she has other things on her mind right now."  
  
Angel scrubbed his hands through his hair as he studied the plush carpet beneath his boots with the same concentration Wesley often paid to his books. He knew Lorne was waiting for an explanation, an apology, but the words refused to form in his mouth, tongue dry from the secret only he had known for months.  
  
"Uh huh, figured as much." Lorne cocked an eyebrow at Angel's silence.  
  
"Look-" Angel started, only to be abruptly cut short but the shrill beeping of a cell phone. He winced at the not so melodious music rattled his abused brain.  
  
Lorne held up his hand, signalling Angel to hold that thought as he answered the call.  
  
"He's up," Lorne told Gunn without preamble, "...uh huh...right...oh, trust me, he'll be there." He killed the call without saying goodbye and pocketed the phone all in one highly practised movement. "They're waiting."  
  
***  
  
Cordelia tilted her face towards the sun, letting the early morning rays seep into her pores, hoping that it might thaw the ice she could feel forming in her veins, crystallising her capillaries into threads of pain. She clicked the bones in her neck and leant back against the drivers side of the DeSoto, forcing the muscles in her shoulders to relax. Closing her eyes, Cordelia watched the sun's shadows dance behind her eyelids until everything faded away but the burn of her retina and the sound of the slight breeze whipping across the landscape.  
  
Simple, peaceful, nothing.  
  
If she tried hard enough, Cordelia could pretend that she didn't exist at all.  
  
"This piece of crap is held together entirely by rust," Faith groused as she slammed the DeSoto's hood down. She wiped her hands on her jeans, leaving smears of oil and grease across her thighs.  
  
"Fixed it?" Fred asked as she studied the map that she'd spread out on the DeSoto's roof.  
  
"I don't even know what's wrong with it," Faith said, digging out a flattened carton of cigarettes from her back pocket. "We should probably stop at a garage in the next town we hit." Lighting her cigarette, Faith tilted her head to the side as considered the long stretch of dusty road that stood both in front and behind them. "That is if we ever find civilisation again."  
  
"We're not lost."  
  
"Coulda fooled me," Faith snorted.  
  
"I know exactly where we are," the Physicist insisted.  
  
"And that would be?"  
  
Fred flipped her hair away from her face with annoyance. "Somewhere. I think we took a wrong turn someplace," she scowled at the map. "I knew we shouldn't have got off the interstate."  
  
"Hey, you were the one that wanted to see the desert," Faith pointed out with the glowing tip of her cigarette. "And look-" she waved her hands lazily at the surrounding landscape of dusty red mountains and hungry cacti. "-desert."  
  
"I think," Fred ignored her, "I think if keep goin' in the same direction we should wind up in Ajo, and then we can head east to Tucson," she nodded, satisfied with the decision.  
  
"And we're going to Tucson, why?"  
  
"God, Faith, I don't know, just because!" Fred snapped, throwing the map into the messy back seat of the DeSoto.  
  
"I'm just sayin', we could turn our butts round and be in Vegas by-"  
  
Fred stiffened at the mention of Las Vegas, too many memories that she could no longer trust muddied her brain. "No, we're going to Tucson."  
  
"What the hell is so special about freakin' Tucson?"  
  
"If you want to be in charge here, Faith, be my guest."  
  
Cordelia sighed as the two women's bickering infiltrated her brain, pulling her out of her silent world. She wanted to stay there, locked in the noiseless nothing, waiting to see if the Arizona sun could thaw her from the inside out. If it couldn't, what could? Did she really want it to? Wouldn't it be easier on them all if she were to walk straight out into the desert, relieve Fred and Faith of their burden, lay down like Ophelia on the broken ground and let the glare of the sun turn her to dust and memories.  
  
A shiver chased over her arms.  
  
No. That would be too easy.  
  
She slipped on the sunglasses Fred had bought her and turned to face her travel companions who stood, hands on hips, arguing over their final destination. The first warning prickles of a headache sparked behind her eyes.  
  
"Children!" Cordelia barked, as surprised at the strength of her voice as Fred and Faith were. "I don't care where we go, as long as it's somewhere, OK? Somewhere preferably that serves alcohol because I swear to God, you two make me want to mainline Jim Bean!"  
  
Fred and Faith blinked in unison.  
  
"OK."  
  
"Whatever's good with you, C."  
  
"OK, then," Cordelia nodded, shaken by the sound of her own voice. "Right," she stepped towards the back end of the car only to stop just as quickly, flailing a moment as though her body was moving too quickly for her brain.  
  
Fred and Faith watched her silently, scared that saying anything might cause the third brunette to retreat back behind the wall she'd erected to the outside world.  
  
"I'm driving," Cordelia declared, swinging the driver's door and dropping down into the seat before anyone could argue with her. Not that they would have.  
  
Fred raised her eyebrows with an unspoken question.  
  
Faith shrugged, dropping her cigarette and grinding it into the hot asphalt with the heel of her boot.  
  
"You coming?" Cordelia stuck her head out of the window, an eyebrow cocked behind the heavy black sunglasses.  
  
A bloom of hope unfurled in Fred's chest.  
  
Maybe taking Cordelia away from LA, from Angel, had been the right choice.  
  
***  
  
The elevator announced its arrival with a jarring ping as the doors slipped effortlessly open on the busy main floor of Wolfram and Hart. Angel winced at the wave of noise that flooded his ears and scrubbed his hand over his face. Two glasses of blood, a cup of black coffee and he could still taste his hangover lurking on the back of his tongue. The urge to press the penthouse button and return to the gloomy quiet of his apartment itched in Angel's fingers, but he knew Lorne wouldn't grant him such an easy escape.  
  
Feeling agitated and tense, Angel stared blindly out at the bustling lobby. Familiar and unfamiliar faces chatted as they went about their work, the worker ants of Wolfram and Hart shuffling from A to B, then back to A once again.  
  
Angel steeled himself to enter the throng.  
  
When a full minute passed without movement from the vampire, Lorne prodded an expensively manicured finger into Angel's shoulder.  
  
"You asleep with your eyes open?"  
  
Angel shook his head.  
  
"Then you're gonna wanna get out of the elevator-"  
  
"Ever thought that maybe they don't want to be found?" Angel asked quietly, ignoring the confused stares they were receiving from the employees that walked by.  
  
"No."  
  
Angel nodded once and took a step forward, only to stop and look at Lorne over his shoulder.  
  
"Are you going to tell them?"  
  
"I have a feeling they'll find out soon enough without my help," Lorne said honestly. He didn't have to be prescient to see the dark cloud lurking on the horizon.  
  
Rotating his shoulders like a boxer readying for the fight of his life, Angel strode into the belly of the beast. Employees scattered out of his path, weary of being trampled down by broad shoulders and a scowl. Even though the icy fingers of dread had dug themselves deeply into the small of back, Angel walked with all the confident arrogance that came with two hundred plus years of being a vampire.  
  
This was his town, his people, his game, his-  
  
"Hey Bossy," Harmony chirped, stepping directly into his path in a blaze of pink and yellow. "I've cancelled all your meetings for the rest of the week, which I think deserves a raise in itself because Mr Hannity? So not the rescheduling type. He threatened to send us all to the fiery pits of hell, and I'm pretty sure he meant it, what with him being one of Satan's actual toadies. But I, your faithful and dedicated assistant, managed to calm him down. You see, it's all about people skills. Just because I'm evil doesn't mean that-"  
  
"Harm!" Angel shouted, he learnt it was the only way to break through her mindless chatter.  
  
"Yes, Boss?" she blinked.  
  
"Hannity works for Satan?" he asked before he could stop himself.  
  
"Yup," she nodded. "He was with Geragos, but after that whole Michael Jackson fiasco Mr Hannity decided he didn't want to be represented by a man with no morals."  
  
"Really? But isn't he-"  
  
"Evil? Sure is!" Harmony beamed, delighted that she'd remembered that little snippet of information. Another light bulb flickered in her brain. "That reminds me, you have a meeting with Michael Jackson next week."  
  
"No, no, no, no," Angel shook his head fervently. "No Jacksons. None. There are some evils even we can't rid the world of."  
  
"You're the boss," she shrugged.  
  
Angel raised his eyebrows at her.  
  
Harmony tilted her head to the side. "What?"  
  
Angel sighed. "Could you get out of my way?"  
  
"Oh, right," Harmony bounced on her toes and moved to his side, not breaking step as she continued with her chatter.  
  
"Gunn, Wesley and Spike will meet you in your office in fifteen and Wes has taken care of Eve. Um, not 'taken care of' in a Tony Soprano way, though. At least, I don't think he meant it like that. Meh," she shrugged and thrust a clipboard and pen into Angel's hands as they walked, showing him where to sign. "This is *so* romantic."  
  
"Huh?" Angel frowned at the papers he'd just signed. "What have I signed and why are they romantic?"  
  
"No, silly," Harmony snorted, swatting his arm. "I mean you calling up the cavalry and charging after the woman you love," she sighed dreamily, clutching her hands to her chest for a moment before her mouth took over again. "Word at the water cooler is there might be a Wolfram and Hart wedding in the future, is that true? Because Marge in accounting told Suzy in acquisitions who told Petra in legal that she saw you with a little blue box last week when you came back from New York. Do you think Cordy will ask me to be maid of honour? Can a vampire even be a maid of honor?"  
  
Relief flooded through Angel like a drug when they finally reached his office. Without answering Harmony's questions, he entered his haven and slammed the door behind him.  
  
"I should have just staked her when I had the chance," Angel muttered, rubbing his eyes.  
  
"I heard that!" Harmony shouted through the door before the clack clack of her heels signalled her departure.  
  
"Rough day at the office, darling?"  
  
Angel snapped his attention to the intruder in his office.  
  
Lilah Morgan sat perched on the edge of his desk, long stocking clad legs crossed demurely at the ankle.  
  
She was smiling.  
  
That couldn't be good.  
  
"Long time no see, Lilah." Angel slowly raked his gaze over her silk suit and everything that it hinted at. "Although I must admit, death is starting to take its toll on you. You're looking a little....[i]worn[/i] around the edges."  
  
Lilah effortlessly ignored him. "If that lack brained minion of yours is correct, I owe you congratulations. Sleeping beauty finally woke up and fell into your arms, did she? Kudos to you, Angel," she nodded, her snake charmer smile curving her mouth dangerously as she stalked casually towards him. "So, where [i]is[/i] Cordy exactly?"  
  
Angel clenched his fists and gritted his jaw.  
  
"Don't play dumb, Lilah, it's not attractive."  
  
"I don't know what you mean, Angel," she fluttered her eyelashes with faux innocence. "So you and the woman who fucked your son aren't about to talk the long walk up the aisle? Gosh, colour me shocked and disappointed."  
  
Angel's hand was around Lilah's neck before the last word left the mouth.  
  
"You might want to think about shutting up now," he snarled, his lips brushing the shell of her ear in a parody of a caress.  
  
"Or what? I'm already dead, idiot," Lilah rolled her eyes.  
  
Angel tightened his grip on her throat. The sickly crunch of bones grinding together echoed in his ears, yet Lilah still watched him out of the corner of her eye with bored indifference.  
  
"You were more fun when you were alive," Angel grunted, releasing his hold and wiping his hand disdainfully on his jacket. "What do you want, Lilah?"  
  
Lilah straightened the silk scarf that hid her multiple sins. "What? A girl can't just drop by for a chat with an old friend?"  
  
Angel crossed his arms over his chest.  
  
"You were more fun when I was alive, too," Lilah huffed, smoothing invisible wrinkles out of her Donna Karan.  
  
"Lilah," Angel growled a warning.  
  
"I have a proposition for you," she smiled, her teeth as sharp as knives.  
  
Raising his eyebrows, Angel nodded for her to continue.  
  
"Recent events have caught the Senior Partner's eye, and while the ennui of your personal life is barely a blip on their omnipotent radar, Cordelia's awakening has come to their attention. They believe it would be...[i]beneficial[/i] for all parties involved to..." Lilah paused, as though she were inwardly debating the perfect words to use.  
  
Angel knew she was simply pausing for the drama of it.  
  
"...give the slate another wipe clean, as it were." She canted her head to the side. "Cordelia included."  
  
Angel swallowed down the immediate yes that rose from his gut.  
  
"The spell wasn't as strong as the Partner's had believed it to be. Your girlfriend's re-emergence caused a tear that will just keep on growing if something isn't done, and done soon. You'll have bigger things to worry about other than little Miss Burkle pulling a Thelma and Louise. At some point that last card is gonna tumble and your boy will be right back on the path you put him on." Lilah soothed her hands over the lapels of his jacket. "Is that what you want for Connor?" she asked, as sympathetic as a python.  
  
"Angel, Angel, Angel," she sighed his name like a sated lover. "You know it makes sense. I could snap my fingers and it make it all go away. Everything could be the way it should be." Her warm breath licked across his lips as she promised to shape the world anew once more.  
  
"Isn't that what you want, Angel?" she purred. "A new start with the woman you love? No more pain, no more guilt, you could free her from all of it. You could have everything you've ever wanted."  
  
Angel wanted to shout yes at the top of his lungs, wanted to so desperately that he could feel it vibrating in his bones. Everything could be the way it was meant to be with Cordelia at his side with her sunshine smile and caustic tongue. Yes. Yes. He ached for it. Hungered for the life, woman, friend he'd lost. One simple word would bring her back. Make her the girl she once was. Heal her wounds and erase the nightmares.  
  
Lilah cocked an eyebrow, the devil dancing in her eyes. "Well?"  
  
The corner of Angel's mouth twitched with a smirk as he let his gaze devour her. Twisting a fist through her perfectly hair, Angel leant forward to capture her mouth with his, only to stop millimetres away from her dead, red lips.  
  
"Lilah, Lilah, Lilah...." Angel brushed his nose of the rise of her cheekbone and inhaled her scent. Chanel, sex and fear. It would be just like old times if it weren't for the stench of death that cloyed at her skin. Lilah was as much of a walking corpse as he was.  
  
Lilah shivered and licked her lips in invitation.  
  
"How can I say this so you understand?" he drawled slowly, letting himself enjoy the full press of her breasts against his chest before pushing her away and crossing his arms.  
  
"No."  
  
Lilah rolled her eyes. If she was flustered, it didn't show. "Figured as much. The Senior Partners won't be pleased."  
  
"Not my problem," Angel shrugged.  
  
"Ah, but it will be," Lilah promised, her eyes darting towards the door. "Sadly our time together is up for today. Have fun in Arizona. Get some sun, you're looking pale."  
  
"Funny."  
  
"I thought so," she smirked. "Give my love to Wes." With a wink and a kiss blown to the air, Angel was once again on his own. Lilah hadn't so much as disappeared, as simply ceased to be.  
  
His stomach rolled over at the realization of what he'd just declined. Rubbing his temples tiredly, Angel grunted when a familiar knock sounded on the other side of the door.  
  
Wesley poked his head around the door. "Ready?"  
  
"Not at all," Angel sighed. "Lets go."  
  
***  
  
Cordelia flexed her stiff shoulders and shifted uncomfortably in her seat. Maybe she shouldn't have commandeered the wheel, her body still felt brittle from the long months of inaction and her arms were aching with their sudden use. But the long, empty stretch of highway was a seductive mistress and Cordelia could bring herself to stop and rest.  
  
She'd had rested enough in the coma.  
  
The DeSoto was all but silent apart from the snuffled murmurs and snores of two her travelling companions. Fred laid sprawled over the back seat, her shoeless feet propped up on the open window while Faith was slumped in the seat beside Cordelia, her head lolling loosely like a marionette.  
  
Faith talked in her sleep.  
  
It was more interesting than the radio.  
  
Cordelia wiped the back of her hand across her forehead, grimacing at the gritty sweat that seemed to cake her entire body. It was too damn hot. The mid day sun glared down angrily at the DeSoto and heated the inside like a microwave. Cordelia could feel long tendrils of sweat running down between her breasts, soaking her bra to her skin. Her T-shirt stuck uncomfortably to her back and her bare legs were being roasted by the DeSoto's leather upholstery. Skin that had once glowed with the California sun now felt raw and thin, stretched tightly over weak muscles and fragile bones. No matter how much she scrubbed, no matter how many small, sickly smelling bottles of soap she emptied into her hands, Cordelia couldn't erase the invisible graffiti left by anothers deceit.  
  
Faith jerked awake, snapping Cordelia out of her thoughts. She scrabbled like a frightened animal readying to attack as she returned to the waking world, fingers that had slain and murdered curled tightly over the dashboard until her knuckles blanched white and the worn plastic creaked painfully.  
  
Cordelia watched her wearily out of the corner of her eye.  
  
"Shit," Faith grunted, slumping back into her seat. She pressed the heels of her palms roughly into her eyes, trying to scrub out the dream that caused her heart to beat too fast and her hands to tremble.  
  
Dragging a hand through her hair, Faith stared blankly out at the blurry landscape, steadying her breath so it no longer rattled her rib cage.  
  
"Bad dream?"  
  
"Something like that."  
  
Silence sliced through the DeSoto. Waves of tension crackled around the slayer like an electric storm, stifling the already thin air and scratching at raw nerves.  
  
"Who's Robin?" asked Cordelia so she wouldn't be forced to think.  
  
Faith whipped her head round to glare at Cordelia, but the other woman's eyes were hidden by her sunglasses, her gaze fixed resolutely to the road.  
  
"What?"  
  
"Robin. You kept saying it in your sleep."  
  
Faith frowned, wondering what else she may have said as her nightmare gripped her mind with terror. "Robin is...no one."  
  
"Didn't sound like-"  
  
"So you've finally decided to rejoin the land of the talking, huh?" Faith said quickly, deflecting the attention as far away from herself, Robin and the reasons she'd been so eager to leave Cleveland in the first place, as she could. "Does that mean you're over your little melt down? Or is this just a momentary relapse into sanity before you start staring blankly into space like a zombie again?"  
  
"Fuck you," muttered Cordelia.  
  
"Uh huh, I'll take momentary relapse for one hundred, please Alex," Faith snorted, defences back in place like a well oiled suit of armour.  
  
Cordelia tightened her grip on the steering wheel until her hands cramped painfully, but even then she didn't release her hold.  
  
"OK, lets see what blondie listens to before we slip into another one of those fun, bleak silences, shall we?" Faith didn't wait for an answer as she snatched up a handful of old beaten up cassette tapes from the passenger side floor.  
  
None of them were labelled.  
  
Faith wasn't in the least bit surprised.  
  
With a wrist flick that had slain more vampires than she could remember, Faith jammed the least abused tape she could find into its home.  
  
All three women jumped when the sickly melodious tones of prepubescent love blared out of the speakers.  
  
"Jesus, I swear this car has a mind of it own," Faith shouted over the din, quickly ejecting the tape and turning the volume down. "This better be Dawn's." She turned the tape over in her fingers for a moment before tossing *Nsync out of the window where they belonged.  
  
"Nice wake up call," Fred groused under breath as she sat up in the back seat. "Give a girl a warning next time you're trying to kill her with a heart attack, OK?"  
  
"Quit ya whining, Burkle," Faith rolled her eyes and loaded the next cassette. "If this is Celine Dion, I'm having a serious talk with Buffy about her choice of men the next time I see her."  
  
Mercifully, it wasn't.  
  
"Now this I can live with," she smiled happily as The Who's My Generation filtered through the DeSoto ageing sound system. Roger Daltrey crackled as he told society to just f-fade away, but the soul of the song was still intact and it covered up the silence and rattling engine. After a while The Who changed into the Buzzcocks roughly lamenting the pain of falling in love with someone you shouldn't and both Cordelia and Faith felt the urge to silence the song that was cutting far too close to the bone.  
  
Fred, however, was too preoccupied staring out of the back window to notice tense pair up front.  
  
"Um, Cordy?" she said slowly.  
  
"Yeah?"  
  
"I don't suppose you might have noticed how long we've been being followed, have you?"  
  
Faith snapped her head around like a slingshot, her eyes wide and filled with a fear that Fred had never seen before. It was gone in a heartbeat though, replaced the arrogant confidence that the slayer had honed.  
  
"Huh, looks like your boys have sent someone else to do their dirty work," said Faith.  
  
"What do you mean?" Fred frowned, her eyes darting to Cordelia's reflection in the mirror. If Cordelia was scared it didn't show in her face. That worried Fred more than she liked.  
  
"Look at it," Faith nodded at the SUV that shadowed them at a safe distance. "Blacked out windows, no plates, fresh paint work, new tyres and a suspiciously large aerial. If that doesn't scream quasi evil law firm than nothing does."  
  
"It's a public road, chances are they're just regular people," Cordelia spoke up calmly.  
  
"Yeah, sure, with our luck?" Faith snorted sarcastically.  
  
"Point," Cordelia acknowledged with a nod and pressed her foot down harder on the accelerator. The DeSoto jerked forward unsteadily with a cough before it finally found its stride and the speedometer shuddered upwards.  
  
The SUV accelerated behind them.  
  
***  
  
"God save the queen, the fascist regime, they made you a moron, a potential H-bomb...."  
  
Angel twisted his hands over the steering wheel like he was trying to strangle it. His left eye was beginning to develop a twitch and the hangover had turned into a headache which was quickly evolving into a migraine.  
  
"...God save the Queen, she ain't no human being, there is no future in England's dreaming..."  
  
Angel hit the horn twice, quick impotent barks of noise that did nothing but irritate the other drivers around him. The old woman with purple hair and nicotine stains on her lips in the car beside them flipped him the bird.  
  
"...don't be told what you want, don't be told what you need. There's no future there's no future-"  
  
"Shut. The. Fuck. Up." Angel snarled dangerously at his singing travel companion.  
  
"You know what your problem is, Angel?" Spike asked, no longer intimidated by the other vampire.  
  
"Apart from you?"  
  
"Your problem is you don't know how to relax. Sit back, enjoy the vampire safe sunshine, it'll do you good."  
  
"This is a traffic jam, Spike. Not a weekend in Tahoe."  
  
"You always were a glass is half empty type of ponce, Liam."  
  
"And you never knew when to stop that mouth of yours from flapping, *William*." Angel thumped his fist on the horn again and gave purple haired lady the finger before she could strike first. Spike snorted and lit a cigarette, ignoring the growl of annoyance that rumbled through the older vampire's chest.  
  
The traffic crawled forward like an asthmatic snail before it ground to a halt once again.  
  
Angel thumped his head against the headrest.  
  
"Careful there, mate. You might dislodge those three brain cells of yours."  
  
"I will pay you to be quiet."  
  
"But then who would supply the colour commentary?"  
  
"Seriously, I'll give you ten thousand dollars, right now, if you just stop talking."  
  
Spike tilted his head to the side, mulling over the offer.  
  
"Naw, not gonna happen."  
  
Angel slumped forward over the steering wheel in defeat.  
  
"Hey, it could be worse. You could be stuck back there with the Shaft and the English patient," Spike jerked his thumb at the vehicle behind them where Gunn and Wesley sat together in a stony silence.  
  
Angel grunted.  
  
"Cheer up, old man," Spike patted his shoulder. "We'll find your girl soon enough and then you'll really have something to be miserable about."  
  
Angel wonderful if Spike knew just how true that was.  
  
TBC 


End file.
